


The Quell

by CMarieBohley_Author



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: 50th Hunger Games, Arena (Hunger Games), Awesome, Epic Battles, F/M, Games, Heartbreak, Hunger Games, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, Pain, Panem, Reapings (Hunger Games), Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:21:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25812727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMarieBohley_Author/pseuds/CMarieBohley_Author
Summary: When sixteen-year-old Haymitch Abernathy is reaped in Panem's second Quarter Quell, he is determined to make it through the games and return to his family and lover, Harlow May.  But with twice the usual amount of opponents and an extra deadly arena, the journey to victory might not be as simple as Haymitch suspects. With nothing but his wits and his eagerness to return home to District Twelve, will he find the strength he needs to do whatever it takes?
Relationships: Haymitch Abernathy & Haymitch Abernathy's Girl, Haymitch Abernathy & Maysilee Donner, Haymitch Abernathy/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 4





	1. The Reaping

There’s something unsettling about the reaping.

Not just for the obvious reasons, of course, which are self-evident. It isn’t necessarily the anxiety that gets me, nor the unspoken thought that it could be  _ my  _ name this time. Though these are the main causes of my discomfort- and everyone else’s, I suspect- they aren’t what make my skin prickle and my stomach tighten as I walk to the Hall of Justice.

It’s a deep concept, I guess, and one that I’m not sure I can put into words. It’s the fact that none of it really matters. The nervousness. The gathering. The whole ceremony. Because no matter how many people prepare themselves for their possible fate, only two are affected each year. It’s the fact that this whole thing will someday be in the past, and the person who walks up to the stage will either be a memory or a victor. It’s the fact that, despite everything that that person does to keep themself alive, the odds are inevitably against them. 

After all, no one from twelve ever wins the games. At least, not often enough to have any statistical value. There was one victor shortly after the games began, I think… but I don’t know much about them. Must not have survived long after they returned home. 

That familiar sense of unease rushes through me, and as I find my place in the crowd of sixteen-year olds, I start as someone squeezes my hand. I turn and meet her eyes, a lively green that has always reminded me of the clovers that grow freely around twelve’s borders. They’re a comforting color, one that I have learned to trust and find peace in. Harlow and I have been together for just under a year now, but I sometimes feel like I’ve known her my whole life.

I return the gentle squeeze, before turning to face the stage. It’s hard to see it clearly, what with the ocean of children in front of me, but I manage to spot the wildly dressed Capitol announcer as he makes his way to the microphone. Complete silence falls as he prepares to speak, and my ears ring in the sudden quiet.

A handful of cameras are aimed in different directions throughout the Hall, recording the crowd, the stage, and a closeup of the man as he announces, “It is now time to announce the male and female tributes of this year’s Hunger Games. I would like to remind you all that there will be four tributes from each district this year. After all, this is a Quarter Quell with special rules- as it will mark the fiftieth year of our country’s tradition.”

“Tradition,” I mumble. “They make it sound so festive.”

“It’s a holiday, is it not?” Harlow whispers mockingly, and looks up at me with as much amusement in her eyes as there is fear.

“Let us start with the girls,” the man continues in that boisterous Capitol accent. He stoops down to remove two slips of paper from the glass bowl labeled ‘female,’ before straightening up again. He carefully unfolds the first one, and peers down at the name. After a long pause, he declares, “The first female tribute from District Twelve for the fiftieth Hunger Games shall be Maysilee Donner.”

I watch solemnly as a girl, Maysilee, I presume, makes her way from the crowd to the stage. Her hands are clenched into fists, and a curtain of dull brown hair hides her face from view. I imagine that she’s trying to hold back tears. 

“The second female tribute from District Twelve shall be…” the man continues, unfolding the paper as he speaks, “Magnolia Burns.”

Harlow’s grip on my hand loosens at the foreign name, and she whispers, “Thank the heavens above.”

The crowd shifts as the other girl is forced toward the stage, and unlike Maysilee, she can’t seem to hold back her tears. She holds her head in her hands, but it barely muffles her cries.

“Now for the male tributes,” the man continues, and reaches down to take a slip from the other bowl. Once he’s situated at the microphone once more, he unfolds the slip and reads, “The first male tribute from District Twelve for the fiftieth Hunger Games shall be Rorin Fayhorn.”

My heart drums in my chest, but I force myself to take steady breaths. One more name, and then I can leave this place. I can go home. Perhaps Harlow and I can have a picnic, or take a walk around the outskirts of Twelve.

A feeling of unease creeps into my subconscious, and somehow I know that my plans are a distraction rather than a possible reality. They’re almost like lies I tell myself to soften the inevitable blow I sense coming just a moment before the man utters his next words.

“The second male tribute from District Twelve is Haymitch Abernathy.”

Harlow tightens her grip on my hand, and at first I can’t figure out why. Everything moves in slow motion as I try to make sense of the words… the two particular words that seem so familiar, yet equally alien. 

“Haymitch Abernathy?” the man repeats, and his voice rises in the end as if he’s asking a question.

I swallow hard, understanding crashing down on me with the force of a tidal wave. I almost wish it was real; a colossal body of water that would wash me far away from here. I knew that this would happen, somehow… and still I can’t get over the shock of it. My tears seem to have blurred my brain rather than my eyes, which remain completely dry despite the extreme context of my pain.

I take a shaky step forward, but Harlow won’t release my hand. I turn to her, panic rising inside of me, and whisper, “Harlow, you have to let me go.”

“No,” she replies weakly, and her eyes fill with tears.

“Harlow…”

“No!” she exclaims, not bothering to keep her voice down. “Haymitch, please. There must be something…”

Peacekeepers march forward from their places on either side of the crowd, and I look to Harlow with pleading eyes. “There isn’t anything we can do.”

“Maybe if I volunteer for Maysilee…” she sobs.

I watch the peacekeepers approach out of the corner of my eye. “Don’t, Harlow. Then we won’t have any chance of being together. Not in this lifetime, anyway.”

“But-”

“Listen, Harlow… you’re going to get both of us in trouble,” I whisper, and Harlow’s lip quivers in response. After a moment of silence she releases my hand, and the peacekeepers pull me along toward the stage.

“I can walk,” I snap, but they don’t let me go until we’ve reached the stairs. I walk up slowly, feeling as if I’m in a dream, and suddenly I’m standing beside Maysilee and Magnolia at the very front.

The Capitol man keeps talking, but I tune him out. I’m too busy focusing on Harlow’s face in the crowd, distant and grave. I can only hope that seeing her will keep me from crying, or worse: losing my balance and plummeting face-first off of the stage.

Soon the peacekeepers are moving me again, but everything feels far away. Surreal, almost. Like this really is a nightmare.

_ Perhaps I’m in shock _ , I think.  _ Can you die from being in shock? _

I’m shoved into a small room where I’m to meet up with my family and Harlow, probably to say my final goodbye.


	2. Goodbye

When I can’t make myself sit in the uncomfortable chair that sits in the corner, I begin to pace the room. It’s better to keep moving, because it gives me a small sense of control. Even if it doesn’t matter in the scheme of things, it helps to settle my nerves.

The door swings open and my little brother rushes inside, followed by my mother. Brennan embraces me immediately, barely reaching past the center of my torso. He sobs into my shirt, and I pet his hair like I would a whining puppy’s. 

Mother puts her arms around both of us, and suddenly I feel like a little boy again, safe in my mother’s gentle embrace. I swallow the tears that threaten to overflow from my eyes, but a few betray me and trail down my face.

“We believe in you, Haymitch,” Mother says. Her tone is so...  _ sure.  _ It almost makes me believe that I have a chance.

_ And I do _ , I remind myself sternly.  _ I have to. _

I look down at Brennan, who turned eleven just a week ago. The thought that he could be reaped next year makes me sick to my stomach. Will I be here to keep him calm during his first reaping? Or will I be sentenced to an eternity in Twelve’s graveyard?

The peacekeeper opens the door, announcing that our time is up. 

Brennan embraces me again, his sobs growing hysterical, and Mother practically drags him from the room. 

_ “Haymitch!” _ he shrieks, and I catch sight of his tear-stained face for only a second before the door closes again.

I take a big breath and let it out slowly. I have to keep calm. If I don’t, I’m sure I’ll fall apart completely. 

But despite my strong will and my silent vow not to cry, I can’t help the sob that escapes from my lips when Harlow appears in the doorway. She runs to me and I hold her tightly, never wanting to let go but knowing that our time is limited.

“Listen, Harlow,” I whisper. “Whatever happens, you need to know that I-.”

“No,” Harlow interrupts, pulling back to study my face. “Don’t say it. Tell me when you see me again, after the games.”

“But I-”

Harlow put her hand to my lips, and her clover-green eyes are stern. “If you say it, it means goodbye. It means that you’ve given up. And I won’t let you. Do you understand me?”

I nod slowly, not used to seeing this side of her. She removes her hand from my mouth with great care, as if prepared to stop me again. Once she’s sure I won’t go on, she rises to her toes and kisses me. There is a gentleness… almost a sadness about her lips, but also an eagerness. She kisses me like it’s the last time she’ll ever have the chance.

When she draws back she throws her arms around me again, and buries her face into my shoulder. I stroke her hair, wishing she’d stop crying. If she keeps this up, I’ll be in tears soon, too.

The peacekeeper has to tear her away from me when our time ends, because she refuses to let go. I watch helplessly as she disappears through the doorway, and I’m left with silence again. Finally the peacekeeper returns, and says gruffly, “Let’s go. Your train is waiting.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello reader! I hope you enjoyed this chapter of 'The Quell.' I do plan to write the whole story from the reaping to Haymitch's return to Twelve, and your kudos/comments will motivate me to write faster. Since I have some time before my next semester of college, I'll be writing as much as possible over the next few weeks. See you all in the next chapter!
> 
> \- Carynn


End file.
